


Saturday Morning Rules

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:57:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: It’s Saturday. Saturday is meant for bed. It was a rule.





	Saturday Morning Rules

He woke up to the scent of burning butter and coffee and he twisted a little in his bed, searching--

The bed is empty, and cool to the touch, and he frowns. 

It’s Saturday. Saturday is meant for bed. It was a rule. He sat up, and called, “Dean?” 

From the front of their apartment, he heard a low curse and then rapid footsteps and Dean sticks his head in. 

He’s sleep soft, still, his  hair sticking up at odd angles. He’s wearing an AC/DC shirt and plaid boxers and a grin. “Gimme two minutes,” Dean says, quick, before he’s ducking away. 

Cas huffs but flops back into their bed. 

It’s memory foam and adjustable, and he likes to sit here, at night, reading while Dean plays  _ something _ on his lap with Charlie. 

And he loves to stretch across it to find Dean. 

When they first bought it, they didn’t have furniture for the apartment, didn’t have food in the fridge, didn’t have the first clue what to do with their life without hunting. 

They only knew they were done with hunting and being apart--Dean refused to be away from Cas after Jack was born, and he died. 

So they were don’t have a lot of furniture and they got used to spending their time together in bed, and he  _ likes _ their bed, but it’s better, when Dean is in it with him. 

“ _ Dean,”  _ he calls again, and he’s rewarded with a chuckle and the clatter of dishes. 

The footsteps are slower this time, and Dean is moving slow as he brings the tray in and Cas gives him a fairly impressed smile. “Breakfast?” 

Dean flashes a grin and settles the tray across Cas’s laugh, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. 

It’s not an impressive breakfast. The eggs are a little runny and the pancakes are slightly burnt. The strawberries aren’t ripe yet and the looks cold. But Cas smiles, and takes a syrup drenched bite and they curl up, close as possible, and share the food, until Dean’s lips are shiny from bacon grease and Cas’s fingers are wet from Dean licking them clean. Until the food is gone and Cas is sleepy and content, leaning into the man he adores. 

They didn’t think they’d get here, not ever. This wasn’t meant for them. They  _ fought _ for it. 

It makes every kiss precious. Every brush of Dean’s fingers, rough and thick and familiar against his sides and up the sweep of his throat, settling familiar and soothing under his ears is precious. 

Every kiss, wet and hungry, soft and sweet, rough and demanding is treasured. 

Every gasp and moan, bitten of  _ Cas,  _ growled  _ Dean, _ softly sobbed  _ please _ is priceless. 

Every morning spent here, waking up pressed together, kissing each other awake, stroking each other off and lazing in bed after, panting and whispering plans for the weekend, and year, and life. It all adds up to a life that he cannot imagine having, a life he cannot imagine losing. 

There are things to do, around the house, and he has to work at the flower shop tomorrow, but as he leans Dean, their hands laced together and sticky with come, As Dean slumps, a smile that is content and  _ happy _ on his lips, he pushes all that aside. 

He is where he has always wanted to be, and the air smells of coffee and burnt butter and sex. 

Tomorrow can wait. 

Saturdays are for bed. It’s the rule. 


End file.
